


Am I A Sure Thing?

by mixedwithintellect



Series: Saint Nicholas Verse [8]
Category: Don't Let Me Go - Harry Styles (Song), Kiwi - Harry Styles (Song), Medicine - Harry Styles (Song), One Direction (Band), Sweet Creature - Harry Styles (Song)
Genre: F/M, Friends to Lovers, Pining
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-19
Updated: 2018-09-19
Packaged: 2019-07-14 06:56:38
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,492
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16035293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mixedwithintellect/pseuds/mixedwithintellect
Summary: the one where Harry, Nick, and Y/N are on a romcom movie night, with too much wine, and a gnome





	Am I A Sure Thing?

The TV screen glowed dimly, casting a bluish hue against the group of three cuddled on Y/N’s couch. Nick was in the middle, splayed with his feet against the coffee table and his arms slung around his two best friends; Harry’s head was tucked against Nick’s shoulder, his arms linking around the other man’s chest and his feet curled onto the dark spaces between couch cushions. Y/N was on Nick’s other side, sitting more upright and her fingers toying with the ends of her hair.

While the boys’ attention was held tightly on the movie, Y/N’s was wandering towards the topic of split ends. What were they exactly, why were they so bad? Could she cut them off herself, or did she  _have_  to wait to get it properly done, for $60 at the local salon? Didn’t Harry not cut his hair for a few years, and  _still_ win awards for it? Y/N wasn’t sure, and more so she wasn’t sure if that topic had been brought up in the group chat, or when she had lazily been looking on Tumblr about her new celeb friend. Bringing it up naturally would put at risk her whole operation of secretly watching One Direction videos at 1 am, her eyes straining against the light of her laptop and itching to go to sleep.

If Harry asked, Y/N would swear up and down she never researched him – but,  _c’mon_ , there’s just so much information available online. And it was for meme research, anyway. Nothing to do with her lingering on articles with such lovely titles as  _Harry’s Top 10 Gentleman Moments_  and  _Harry Doesn’t Want You_   _To Go To Sea-World!_ , and quickly passing over articles with well-known female singers and models (Nick had told her, quite unprompted, that those were mostly fake stories. Not that Y/N cared, of course. All that would matter is that Harry’s privacy is respected, of course.  _Of course_.)

“ _-but keep on dreamin’ - this is Hollywood. Always time to dream, so keep on dreamin’.”_

The movie was wrapping up. Nick had begun to shuffle a bit in his position, gently rotating his ankles to wake up his legs, smacking his mouth together to get his jaw back and ready to spew 10,000 words a minute. Y/N felt certain he had reached that speed, she believed in the guy.

Harry’s arms stretched out, his legs pushing outwards over the arm of the couch so his entire body was one, long, stretching noodle. His fingertips even grazed Y/N’s side, the one that had been nestled up to Nick. She subtly moved, flinching slightly at the surprise when his fingers poked against her thick sweatshirt.

“Well, Y/N, whad’ya think?” Nick grumbled, his hand shaking her shoulder slightly and turning his head to grin down at her. It had been her first time seeing that movie in particular, although Y/N wasn’t sure why Nick had suddenly been so keen on watching romcoms instead of their typical zombie/apocalypse genre.

“Liked it, nice film,” she spoke around a yawn, smiling brightly back and choosing not to mention she had zoned out for the last 20 minutes. The distractions of split ends and Harry Styles had overtaken her ability to focus on prostitutes and love. But hey, what’s the difference.

Harry hadn’t stirred since his light stretch, and Nick simply hummed a response. The three of them stilled, snuggled into one another, warm underneath swaths of blankets thrown across Y/N’s legs, Nick’s torso, and Harry’s shoulders. The ending credits of the movie began to roll over the TV, names slowly inching further up.

Harry, Y/N, and Nick were comfortable, warm, and quiet.

Pizza boxes were littered by the base of the couch, veggies that had been picked off the slices tossed against the greasy cardboard. It had been a good hour and a half since they had eaten dinner, a meal that Harry had  _insisted_  on paying for. 

Despite it being Y/N’s home, Nick’s idea to order pizza, and Harry always being the one to provide food for the three of them when they were out. Nick hadn’t bothered to argue, waving Harry off towards the door when the doorbell rang, and Y/N was attempting to shuffle through her wallet, past the scramble of $1s, but couldn’t salvage the money before Harry had paid. She was set on returning the favor, at some point.

Y/N had texted Nick about re-starting their weekly movie nights, since Nick’s schedule had fewer required public appearances than before, and he had recently confessed to her his cravings for a more secluded lifestyle. Plus, she just missed having him around more, they had been close pals for years but had busier schedules with each promotion they had received.

Y/N supposed it would last a few weeks, Nick’s new private life, before he posted another hoard of Instagram photos and embraced his publicity like a long-lost friend. It was an aspect of Nick that Y/N adored, how he easily balanced being a public figure and also simply being Grimmy. His personality wasn’t wild, per say, but it definitely was never boring to keep in touch.

And so, when Y/N had suggested the idea of movie night to Nick, it had felt slightly wrong not to include Harry. Their group chat was active 24/7 at this point, especially when one of them was in a different time zone and had to play catch up on the conversation. The number of times Harry texted Y/N to explain what had occurred within the chat, in the span of the last 6 hours (more  _importantly_ , after Nick had finished his second Red Bull) was staggering.

Although Y/N wouldn’t consider Harry a  _close_  friend, he was certainly more than an acquaintance. She would often send him random texts, full of weird questions and thoughts. It was almost protocol between them, how their texts mainly composed of out-of-the-blue comments that were interwoven with more serious commentary about their days.

Nick had agreed with Y/N’s decision to include H, although he had encouraged it with a wide smirk. That just made Y/N nervous. She was nervous for numerous reasons, anyway, since the last time she and Harry had hung out in a proper, non-party setting was a month ago, when Nick was supposed to come to Harry’s dinner but instead burst into the door when she and Harry were moments away from kissing.

Late at night, when Y/N felt particularly lonely and the expanses of her bed sheets felt like a desert terrain, she could almost feel the breath from his lips against hers. The momentary hesitation before he leaned in, before Nick interrupted the moment. The excitement dancing in her mind, drunk with the wine he had poured her, and how his eyes had carefully looked into hers. As if he were looking for something special, thought she held the key to the universe.

It had been a while since she had felt like that, as if she were worth something beautiful.

* * *

They had shared a bed that night, their drunk friend occupying the guest room that was originally meant for Y/N. Harry had suggested they each have a side of the bed, perhaps trying to feel out the atmosphere, see if Y/N had snapped out of the haze of lust that his mind was still drowning in. She had shrugged nonchalantly and before Harry could say  _anything_  else -- her jeans were off. Cast to the floor, her body stumbling over to the bed.

Harry’s eyes had almost bulged out of their sockets, his head snapping quickly away to not be caught staring.

“Jeans are a bitch t’ sleep in,” was her justification, and it was admittedly the only piece of clothing that was taken off that night.

Harry stayed in his outfit from the dinner, simply untucking his shirt from the striped pants and calling it a night.

As they both sluggishly got under the covers, Harry focused on trying to swallow down his increasingly heavier breathing at the sight of soft pink, lace underwear that quickly fell out of sight when Y/N tugged her sweater lower. Y/N herself had spent the majority of the night trying not to breathe into Harry’s pillows  _too_  obviously, only  _subtly_  inhaling the perfume. When she heard him softly snoring though, she felt it was okay and burrowed her head into the blanket, taking a deep breath and finally feeling herself relax.

In the morning, they woke up in each others’ arms. Y/N was fairly warm, almost a little too hot, but the hard structure of Harry’s muscular arms circling her waist kept her from moving an inch. His hands were clasped behind her back, right above her bum.

Before Harry had pieced together who was snuggled up against his chest, her fingers grazing the sides of his neck and trailing down to the black collar of his shirt, he pulled her in closer, taking in a deep whiff of her hair in the process. Her fingers fell, slack, against the curls on the side of his head and in the exhausted frame of his mind, he hoped the girl would start playing with his hair. He always liked that.

Her hair smelled like the fresh, familiar winds in springtime, but Harry wasn’t sure if that was accurate or just his poetic ass being a lil romantic hoe again. Either way, it was pleasant. Something different than waking up to an empty bed, or to a person whose pores still clung to the heavy stank of liquor.

After they untangled their heavy limbs from each other, Y/N’s eyes lingered on the lines marking Harry’s cheek from the pillow. She found herself absentmindedly wondering how his hair would look in the morning under  _different conditions,_  but quickly shoved those thoughts away from her mind.

The rest of the morning lacked any physical connection between the two of them, interrupted by Nick’s clanking moans and head hidden underneath his stacked arms, mumbling about the tragedies of hangovers. They were in the kitchen, the dishes still stacked from the night before, a graveyard dedicated to the potential for Y/N’s night to be full of something  _other_  than going home and watching more Chopped.

Harry had whipped up French Toast for everyone, creating smileys out of bananas and strawberries and even bringing out some special maple syrup that made Nick whistle low, teasing his friend “pulling out the big guns for meh, aren’t ya Haz?” Y/N missed the quick glance Harry shot her, too distracted by Harry’s surround system in her conquest to play some James Taylor song.

* * *

Time in between then and now had muffled the fantasy of Harry for Y/N. Sure, the days following the dinner had her heart racing when she saw  _XXX My Ass_  had texted her again, but it soon waned when it was repeatedly questions about how many necklaces a giraffe could wear, and not another offer over to his place, sans their best friend.

To put it frank, Y/N felt silly. Like she had over-analyzed the situation, that the offer of a kiss was merely a product of the wine and not genuine interest. That the moment had been real, was there, but now was gone. It happened, yeah? Sometimes the flow of the atmosphere lent itself for certain people to come together, but a wind could alter the course of everything.

The sound of Harry’s voice snapped Y/N out of her stroll down memory lane, laughter catching itself at the edges of his words.

“Wha’ the  _fuck_  is on the table?”

[It was a lawn gnome](https://www.cb2.com/18-disco-gnome/s258881?aff=cj), perched next to the basket that held the Misc Electronic Pieces of her flat. Where did all the extra screws and wires come from, anyway? Y/N couldn’t possibly have so many things that needed charging, she felt, yet there were  _always_  random wires spotted around her flat.

The gnome had been a gift from Y/N’s boss, who apparently couldn’t even do a birthday gift with an air of normalcy. That figured, though, working in LA – Y/N was bound to start a collection of weird objects that served no purpose other than fulfilling the societal obligation of gifting on birthdays. This gnome, however, was not a normal gnome. Because of  _course_  it wasn’t.

Gone were the standards colors of red and blue, the orderly uniform of typical garden gnomes - instead the piece was covered by mirror pieces, tiny and reflective. It was a Disco Gnome.

On any normal day, Y/N would’ve agreed with the critic, because it was atrocious. The gnome community most likely mourned the moment it was put on the market, it was too futuristic for the current gnome fashion. But, that’s sort of why she liked it? It was fucking weird, probably  _insanely_  expensive, and useless. The perfect ornament to put next to a Misc. Electronics basket.

“It’s a disco gnome,” she responded, her tone as even as she could manage when giggles shook the words’ foundation.

There was a brief silence.

Nick was the one who started snickering, leaping straight across the boundaries of giggling into straight, hysterical chuckling and snorting, his hand unwrapping around Y/N’s shoulder to wipe underneath his eyes.

“ _Jesus_ , Y/N!”

“That’s gotta be...” and Harry was choking somewhat on laughter, as it racked through his body and mixed with coughs as he attempted to sit upright “...the  _strangest_  gnome ‘ve ever seen.” His giggles faded out, before relapsing into a heavier laughter the more he looked at it.

“Strange? Just plain ugly.” Nick interjected, waving a finger at the poor, defenseless gnome. It didn’t do much for itself, just stood and glistened.

The menu for  _Pretty Woman_  restarted on the TV, the frames continued to show snippets of the film with the options shining below. Y/N’s eyes kept on the TV, not quite wanting to join in on making fun of Frank (which was what she called the gnome, a 46-year old gnome, father of 27 other gnomes worldwide).

“Not very nice,” she grumbled, leaning herself forward off the couch, to land on the floor. She straightened out her shorts, not wanting her whole ass on display as she stalked by them towards the kitchen. It wouldn’t do to watch the berating any longer, plus the wine Harry had brought was still fogging up her mind. And the fact it was  _Harry’s wine again_  in her system seemed to launch another set of feelings she wasn’t aware of, lurking beneath her consciousness.

Sparing a glance towards her boys, she was slightly amused (but also  _irritated_  dammit, Frankie’s done nothing but exist) to see that Harry was crying, shaking with laughter, and Nick was simply  _beyond_  gone.

Harry’s Britney Spears shirt was half-up his chest from his new position, splayed against the back of the couch, one hand turned up as if to question the audacity of the gnome’s existence, and his other comfortably resting on his tummy. The bottom of his butterfly was peeking through from under his shirt, barely, his fingers rubbing back and forth against his chest.

Earlier that night, a black Snapback had been thrown against his curls, and while Y/N typically despised that trend, her toes had curled in their fuzzy pink socks when she had opened the door and saw him standing there, hands in his front pockets and his hat on backwards. The hat was now tossed somewhere on her carpet, a pair of black sunglasses replacing them as responsible for holding back his curls.

Nick’s sweats were barely hanging onto his hips and inched down dangerously with each laugh’s increase in intensity, his fingers reaching down to adjust himself quickly before launching back into the hysteria. His cheeks were ruddy, his fingers lifting the neck of his white tee to wipe away at the glistening tears. Harry and Nick were knocking into each other, nudging the others’ shoulder in some sort of secret language between the two of them.

It had just compiled on top of itself, the hilarity was for the sake of the hilarity as opposed to the situation. The gnome inherently had a limited amount of ridiculousness packed in its disco nature, the rest was just Harry and Nick being fucking idiots.

And, as Y/N stood in between the passage to her kitchen and the living room, she watched the two of them unravel further as if it were a second movie in itself, put on merely for her entertainment. Harry was wordlessly mouthing something to Nick, who understood the gibberish and it sent him into another spiel of giggles. Then, Nick began impersonating  _someone_  that went over Y/N’s head but Harry clearly got, because his mouth opened wider in silent laughter and his eyes crinkled just  _so_  and -

“I’m getting some more water,” Y/N half-yelped, and Harry’s head shot up, looking at her with his mouth still spread in a huge smile.

Harry glanced over at Nick, who was coming down slightly from the hysteria of the gnome. The two men giggled quietly to themselves, not sparing the gnome another look. The TV had restarted the menu selection again, which caught Nick’s attention briefly.

“’m gonna go get some water, too,” Harry decided, and Nick just grinned, nudging his friend off the couch.

Nick didn’t know how well Harry and Y/N were getting along, although he could tell by Harry’s blushing that he sort of fancied the woman. Y/N, however, was more of a mystery. She obviously enjoyed Harry’s company, but seemed more reluctant to let herself be loose. Nick watched Harry go towards the kitchen, wondering if the idea of match-making his two  _best_  friends was a good one, after all. They both had the tendency to not want to risk too much, which might result in both of them inadvertently hurting the other.

* * *

Her kitchen was not small, especially since Y/N knowingly sacrificed room in her bathroom for a larger one whilst apartment-hunting, but the walls felt closer to her than ever before. Perhaps it was how Harry entered a room, how his presence took up so much space. Maybe it was just because she was exhausted, sleep tugging at the corners of her eyes, and she had admittedly built up Harry to mean so  _much_  in her mind. Regardless, the kitchen felt  _tiny_.

Y/N was next to the fridge, a glass in her hand, not having yet slid it under the compartment to get water. Her attention was elsewhere, as Harry’s low giggles had faded out as he entered. He coughed, low, sniffling a bit as he padded in. The change between the living room, with its disco gnome and easy, platonic moments – and the kitchen, with steel appliances and cold floors and  _fuck_ , isn’t Y/N properly over-analyzing this again? It was merely a room, but now it was a room where Harry could see her in all her nervous glory. That sort of intensified everything, to Y/N.

“Just wanted some wa’er, too, ‘f that’s alright,” and instead of Harry walking by her to reach the glasses, as would be his next move naturally, he waited by the stove, hands reaching up to fix his glasses on top of his head.

He simply looked at her.

“Yeah, ‘f course,” she took a step away from the fridge, letting him slip by.

Frustration clung to the smell of silence. It was much easier for Y/N to insist on the ‘moment’ with Harry being circumstantial when she wasn’t a few inches away from his body. It was simple to say it had been the wine, until his cologne hazed her mind and she could see the freckle on his lip clearly.

His socked toes tapped against the floor as the water poured into the glass; Harry sniffed once, reaching up and scratching the tip of his nose. Y/N tugged her phone out from her sweatshirt pocket, scrolling through her notifications in the persisting and awkward silence. The water was so loud,  _fuck_ , and what was Nick doing in the living room alone? There was almost no noise, at all, in the world.

(Y/N would see later, that Nick was taking a plethora of selfies with the gnome and would relaunch his introduction back into the public eye by slaughtering the reputation of Disco Gnomes. Which didn’t have a sturdy reputation to begin with.)

“Was the wine good?” Harry asked, moving back from the fridge and taking a long drink from his glass. Y/N was transfixed by the bobbing of his throat, although a small portion of her mind was scrawling on the innards of her brain:  _get your act together!_ Harry didn’t seem to notice, though.

How could two people be so awkwardly about each other, and yet completely miss it? A tragedy of the times, an issue that couldn’t be solved within a sane mindset. And in the haze of wine, pizza, and a good time with friends, their sanity was arguable.

“Mhm, really good, thanks for bringing some,” and Y/N’s shoulders relaxed, because this type of small talk was the sort she could settle into. Albeit, small-talk was never her first choice, but when she wasn’t sure  _why_  she wanted to suddenly launch herself onto the counter and curl her ankles around Harry’s back until he complied – yeah, small talk would be safest.

“Well, yeh seemed to like it  _last_ time, thought it would be a good bet.”

“Oh, yeah, it’s still really good. Liked it last time, was good this time,” Y/N felt herself rambling, and bit her tongue in nerves, trying to force the words to  _come to a goddamn end_.

His eyes were carefully trained on the glass in his hand, now empty. It had bothered him immensely, how Y/N never mentioned the almost-kiss, that she never implied she would be okay hanging out with him alone, again. He didn’t want to risk it, overstep, make one of Nick’s closest friends uncomfortable. Fuck, didn’t even matter if Y/N knew Nick, he just didn’t want  _her_  to be uncomfortable around him. Ironically, the situation the two of them had crafted by their own worry manifested discomfort perfectly, it settled over them like a fine dust.

Her legs were bare, the cotton shorts having been hitched up slightly during the movie; and Harry respected her  _mind_ , sure, from the texts they had exchanged and how he would sometimes call her, even if it were for only five minutes, and hear how breathless she seemed running to catch the bus for her work, hear her reactions to the new juices (it usually involved quiet retching she tried to hide from her boss, which was adorable in a very new and strange way to Harry). But at that moment, in front of a woman who was just  _begging_  to be cuddled proper in her comfy pajamas, in a way Nick couldn’t, Harry’s heart ached.

Y/N noticed when he took a step closer, because although her eyes were on the newsfeed littered across her phone screen, every inch of her being was keeping close track on Harry. After a few more careful steps on his end, she turned off her phone and slid it back into her pocket, looking up at him.

With his hair brought back, his eyes were more piercing, his lips drawing in more of her attention now than they had previously that night, when she was fighting him over the last slice of pizza. (He won, with a victorious shout and Nick screaming at Harry about being nice to people).

Her kitchen was  _not_ small, but managed to feel like just a corner of a room, with Harry’s body so close to hers. His shoulders were at her eye-level, his fingers brushing her fingertips, the edges of her shorts.

A shiver danced against her spine delicately. Her mouth was parted, a breath caught between her lungs and her mind, her heart missing the memo to  _keep its cool_  and instead thudding heavily.

His head was ducked low, and Y/N knew if she were to look up too quickly, it was all too possible that her lips would brush against his stubble, before making it home to his own. So, she looked down, readily, at his feet, as one of his socked foot bumped into her own. It flashed her back to that sleepy morning, when she was unsure where her limbs ended and his began.

His voice broke the silence, although it sounded low compared to the roaring in her ears.

“Mind getting me mo’ water?” he cleared his throat gently, and Y/N heard the hitch in his breath. “’m thirsty tonight, love.” It was a low whine.

Y/N nodded, jerkily, and Harry’s mouth twitched

“S-sure,” she whispered, not trusting her voice to speak any louder. His chest lifted in a slow, deep breath, and along with it Y/N looked up, gradually.

A single strand of hair fell across his forehead, slanted to rest by the middle of his eyebrow. His mouth was set, now, in a firm line, his gaze more intensely than Y/N had remembered last. As if he were set on memorizing the surface of her skin, the freckles and smudged makeup.

It seemed crazy, how enticing the air around him was, how his eyes literally sparkled like it was a Disney Princess film and Harry was  _magic._

“Maybe...instead o’ water,” Harry began to suggest, his slow words only building up the suspense in her throat, “I could ask yeh for somethin’ else?”

“Yeah, what would that be?” Her voice sounded casual, she figured, and Y/N’s eyes were dead-set on Harry’s lips at this point.

“Think we got interrupted,  _last time_. Wanted to finish it. That okay?”

It was barely a nod, Y/N felt so hypnotized by the pull of his magnetism and how her head was swirling with intrigue and lust. It made her eyelids heavy, as if they were closing on their own behalf as opposed to a conscious preparation. Her body just responded to his, as if it were only natural.

Because her eyes were closing, Y/N missed how Harry’s hand rose from his side, up to her cheek, before hesitating. She didn’t see how his face scrunched up, somewhat, because  _fuck_ if this wasn’t nerve-wracking. He had done this before, kissing someone wasn’t a new concept, but after so much build-up around the thought of Y/N, he couldn’t help but be nervous.

His hand eventually made contact with her cheek, and the moment was so familiar, she was brought back to the moment in hist study. How one hand had been on her waist, the other doing the same action of brushing over her cheekbone.

Kissing was a concept Y/N didn’t fully understand. How swapping spit could turn her engines so fast, how quickly some boys jumped to tongue (and she still had  _no_  clue what to do with her own in those predicaments, so she sort of just let them ‘explore’ her mouth and tried not to think about it too much) and how some girls liked to suck on her lower lip more than the actual kissing part (again, she didn’t quite get the hype but let them do whatever they wanted, they seemed to enjoy it).

It was a jumble of confusion, and Y/N felt quite sure in her opinion that kissing was only fun when the relationship was established, and it was quick pecks before work and slow, languid making out when the day was coming to an end.

She liked kissing when it had no pressure related to it, when it wasn’t a question of “What does this mean” or “Oh my God have they  _heard_  of mouthwash”. But, this was different. As Y/N should’ve really expected, really, because wasn’t  _Harry_  just different? In his total essence, when they were physically near each other, she had never quite met someone like him before. That it would only impact her this strongly when he was in the room with her, was unfortunate; to step away from him would mean to allow herself to tear the moment to shreds, ignore the potential of his lips on hers.

And he was gentle with her, the instant their lips touched.

She would never be able to properly describe it to anyone, how gentle he was with her. How freaking  _soft_  his lips were, and she half-wanted to break the kiss in order to ask him about whatever expensive lip scrub he used, because he tasted like butterscotch. Her mouth widened into a smile as she continued kissing him, feeling a smirk form on his, as well.

Her hands rose from being balled up in her sleeves, her fingers coming out from their safe haven in the warm cotton to rest, hesitant, on his cheeks. The scruff felt scratchy, and the bottom of her stomach clenched at the thought.

Having understood her moves as a sign she was okay with the kiss, that it hadn’t been all on his end, Harry deepened the way his lips moved against hers. His lips remained closed but were rougher, his hands holding her head firmly in place.

Y/N could hear a low moan in the back of his throat, how he tried to stop it by evening out his breathing, but she could feel the vibrations against her lips. Her fingers drifted to the back of his head, at the nape of his neck, and curled themselves around locks of hair. They were soft, having been matted down by his hat earlier that night, and Y/N wished it was within her right to try her hand at tugging on them, seeing what other sorts of noises she could draw out from the man kissing her.

But that would be something else, something far deeper than a kiss in her kitchen, with their best friend a room away, posing with a Disco Gnome as his penis for Instagram.

Harry felt drunker than the wine should’ve allowed him to become, the taste of Y/N’s lips was sweeter than any drink. He, himself, was not entirely sure where his bravery had stemmed, or why his self-control had vanished for the night. How Y/N was responding to his every touch, how her skin felt like gold and he could almost smell the springtime – it just felt  _nice_. And it had been a while, since he properly felt relaxed and at home, like he did when she was around. What that meant, what that could mean for the two of them in the future, wasn’t on his mind remotely. All that mattered right then, was him and her.

They eventually parted. Harry’s hands remained on her face, cupping her cheeks, his eyes lazily opening and a boyish grin growing on his lips.

“Yeh taste like lemonade.”

A weird statement, but Y/N readily took it as a compliment, scrunching her nose.

“Yeah?”

Harry took a moment, his eyes scanning her face once more, before nodding, humming his approval. Her fingers detangled from his curls, and his hands dropped from their place. His fingers seemed to be going towards her own, but she put them in her sweatshirt pocket before he could, fast enough that it wasn’t obvious what she was avoiding. 

If there were one thing Y/N sucked royally at, however, it was the seconds right after Big Moments. Last time, she hadn’t needed to come up with anything to say in response, because Nick had crashed the party, and then in the morning Nick had been moaning rather loudly so Y/N had simply hurried to his side. There was no after-discussion between her and Harry, and she liked it like that. Sure, it meant there was less of an explanation, but it also meant she didn’t need to try and continue whatever illusion of attractiveness that had led Harry to her, to begin with.

“Did you still want that water?” Y/N cleared her throat, turning her head to look at the fridge. When Harry turned to look, as well, still a bit dazed, Y/N subtly wiped at the corners of her mouth, wondering if her lips smelled like butterscotch now. She certainly felt it thrumming in her veins, the adrenaline of  _kissing a cute person_  that never got old.

Damn, she was good.

“No ma’am, got what I came in here fo’,” he cheekily replied, lowering his head a bit and grinning. It was entirely unfair, how adorable this grown man was, how his chest was hardened with muscles, his cologne smelled of cinnamon and deep, manly shit, and his voice could drop to insanely husky levels – and yet his Britney Spears shirt, pink and faded, and his multitude of bedazzled suits and his collection of feminine designer scarves, they all made him more  _masculine_  to Y/N. There was nothing that distracted her from his genuine self, everything was seamlessly magnificent on him.

It was these thoughts that prompted Y/N to continue onward, pushing past her awkward reluctance of intimacy beyond the intimacy. With her hands still tucked in the pocket, fingers twirling nervously against one another, she turned back to Harry.

“Hey, I was wondering...”

The silence was sticky, her throat wasn’t properly opening up, how did people ever  _do_  this?

“HAROLD!” Nick bellowed from the living room, and Harry immediately turned, before looking back at Y/N, eyebrows raised with expectancy. He wanted to know, just as badly as she wanted to speak, what the next words were.

But Y/N just shrugged her shoulders, nodding her head towards their friend in the living room. Because that was what the focus should be on, not on whatever Harry and her had going. This was a friends group, yeah? Once again, the awkward seconds after Big Moments, cut short. She wasn’t one to complain.

Y/N let Harry go in before her, taking a quick second to pour herself some water. Take a few, deep breaths. Sort herself out.

After the adrenaline subsided, Y/N stepped out towards the living room. She felt a lot more like herself; hydration would do wonders, it seemed.

The sight in front of her was something she hadn’t quite expected, although after a brief second of consideration, she probably should’ve.

The gnome had Harry’s hat on its head. Well, it  _partially_  did; threads of the cap were caught on the edges of the mirror shards, so it was almost hanging off the gnome, but stubbornly held on the front of the gnome’s face. Frank looked rather displeased with the outcome, although Nick looked beyond wildly excited, and Harry simply adopted a perplexed expression.

“I was tryin’ to put it on the gnome, ‘cause wouldn’t it be funny, yeah? And it got caught,” Nick needlessly explained, as Harry knelt down and tugged gently on the hat. Some of the threads snapped, so he stopped before any more damage could be inflicted on the Snapback.

“Was my favorite hat.” Harry said simply, running his fingers around the mirrors to see if he could pick out where it was latched onto. Nick was standing above Harry somewhat, a few steps back, one arm around his own waist and the other lifted up to his mouth, biting a bit on his nails. He glanced over at Y/N, who was walking up to her two boys.

“I’d imagine you’ve got plenty others, H,” Nick continued, swinging back to survey the man as he attempted to wrestle the gnome for the glory of the cap.

“Probably plenty other weird ones, like bedazzled cowboy hats.” Y/N piped in, which received a thumbs up from Nick and a snort from Harry. The former wrapped an arm around Y/N, holding her tightly to his side as the two of them watched Haz struggle with his short nails to pick away his hat.

“It’s really fuckin’ on here, isn’t it?” Harry grumbled low, sitting back on his heels and glaring at Frank.

Frank didn’t have much to say back – he, frankly (pun intended), never wanted to be in this position to begin with.

“Speaking o’ which,” Nick sang-said, swaying himself (and consequently, Y/N) side-to-side, “-could I come over to yours t’ pick out a suit? I want my gramma to be wow’ed this hol’day. Figured you’d have somethin’ a bit out there, got anythin’ with cheetah print?”

Harry, mostly focused on the gnome and attempting to will it with his mind to let go of his hat, shook his head. Before a pause, and then a nod.

Nick grinned and let out a weird sort of throat chuckle, happy with the outcome, and most likely picturing his grandmother’s reaction when she saw him in a few weeks.

“Wanna shine brighter than this fuckin’ gnome, Y/N,” Nick retorted, and Y/N shook her head, refusing to hear anything negative about her precious gnome anymore.

The TV had been turned off, most likely having been done by Nick in order to try and eavesdrop on the two in the kitchen, but the main light was on above their heads. The pizza boxes had been stacked on top of one another cleanly, next to the couch which, in turn, had the layers of blankets folded on top of one another. Y/N really loved Nick, sometimes, especially when his inner ‘mother’ side came out and he did the chores around her place. Who could ask for a greater friend, really?

The night was wrapping up, when Harry gave up on saving his hat and reluctantly flopped it back onto the gnome, which Nick found hilarious and took more photos of. Y/N made a slew of promises to Harry that, if chance ever fell on his side and the hat was freed, she would return it promptly. Harry’s eyes never lessened in distrust towards Frank, almost as if he felt sure the gnome had done it purposefully to avenge the teasing. Y/N couldn’t really argue with that, because it’s surely what  _she_  would’ve done, if she were in Frank’s position.

Nick had to be off, his shift at the radio station had been scheduled an hour earlier than normal. He was convinced he needed his beauty sleep, in addition to the billions of coffees he downed before he went on air, and Y/N just tousled the top of his hair and shook her head.

“Alright, Grim, if you gotta make yourself beautiful, I won’t stand in your way.”

“Aww, love, you’re the best-” and he hugged her tightly, squeezing her ribs as if it was the last time they would ever see each other. Y/N didn’t mind, Nick’s hugs were always supreme in her book. Especially when he turned his head, as he did then, and smack a kiss on the side of her cheek. He had done that since the first time they met, when Nick had confused Y/N with his other friend - but it had all, thankfully, worked out.

Yeah, Y/N thought, pinching Nick’s cheeks as he was walking out the door, things really did work out well for them.

Harry had gone home when Nick did, which left Y/N with a weird feeling. It only made sense, though, as it would’ve been odd if she tried to make him stay the night. There was no point, really, and she could try to say her piece later, through text. It wouldn’t be as immediate, but it sure as  _heck_  wouldn’t be as scary. Give Harry some time to think it over, let Y/N have some space to figure out how she wanted to get her message across. A true Marketing major.

So, when it drifted closer to midnight and Y/N was wrapped safely in her own comforter, a teddy bear propped by her head and her lamp switched off, she decided to go for it. Sleep deprivation could always be blamed the next day, for Christ’s sake.

_Y/N: Hey, meant to say something earlier._

She didn’t expect her phone to buzz so quickly, didn’t expect Harry to still be awake.

_XXX My Ass: Hey, thanks for having me tonight. Glad you got to see the movie! What’s up? x._

Y/N’s fingers typed out the message, her lips mouthing the message as she wrote it out. “I was...wondering...comma...do you wanna...go out...with  _me_ ….sometime...question mark.” A final tap on the punctuation, Y/N felt very proud of herself for even finishing the message -- her stomach was already twisting in the worst way.

She read over the message, and then reread it. Once more, for luck’s sake. Was the proper punctuation too much, should she lowercase the ‘i’ and keep it casual? Would Harry be put off if she added a smiley? 

It didn’t feel right, though, none of it. Her nerves were bubbling over, way too much for her to feel okay in putting herself out there, and she began to rethink the whole situation. Sure, there had been a kiss, but what did that  _mean_? Y/N tossed her head again against the pillow, huffing loudly to herself and to the teddy bear.

“This fucking sucks, I want to move to an Amish community and never have to engage in romance, ever again.”

Her teddy bear figured that even the Amish had romance, considering the need to procreate, but didn’t bother correcting Y/N. Sometimes teddy bears were the fucking best.

Her phone buzzed again. In a panic, Y/N flashed her phone back to her eyes and her heart was in her throat – but nope, she hadn’t sent the message yet. It wasn’t even Harry this time, it was Nick.

_Nick: Hey, love. Been thinking – should we set up Harry with Marie? Think they’d get on well. He’s been a bit lonely, sulking around in his millionaire mansion, think it might cheer him up some._

Y/N stared at it, for some length of time that surpassed any comprehension. What the  _genuine_  fuck was going on? She had felt pretty sure that Nick knew what was happening between her and Harry, considering the amount of teasing that had occurred. She didn’t know for sure, of course, but it had seemed implied that Nick wanted her and Harry to get it on. Was that just Nick trying to get two friends together, platonically? Was something misconstrued?

Then, Y/N mulled over, perhaps he  _did_  mean for sparks to fly, but something changed. Did Harry mention something to Nick on the way home, tell him Y/N was a  _bad kisser_? Her fingers flew to her mouth, feeling them cautiously, wondering if they were rough or tasted like her pizza. But that  _Harold_ -man told her she tasted like ‘lemonade’ and that’s a  _good thing,_ to most human beings. It was even a Beyoncé album title. It was iconic.

Without letting herself address  _any_  of the emotions stirring up in the shit-storm of her thoughts, she typed out a response.

_Y/N: Sounds good. IK she’s going to Brian’s BBQ Thurs._

_Nick: Brilliant, thx. Had fun tonight xxxx._

“You and me both, pal,” Y/N muttered, switching back to her messages with Harry. Rereading the message, and deciding it was all bullshit anyway, she deleted it quickly. Harry must’ve said something to Nick, she was convinced.

But she needed to say  _something_  to Harry that could pass off as friendly, nothing too serious, absolutely not referencing the kiss.

“What...brand...was...that...wine...question mark.” she whispered, retyping a response out and sending it in a huff. 

It was a really cheap excuse for a question, and she half-hoped he would call her out on her bullshit. Not that he had done that before, because it always seemed like an unspoken agreement to simply take each other for who they were, as opposed to challenging and questioning one another. At least, their friendship hadn’t reached that level yet. Which was unfortunate, because the situation could really use some confrontation.

Time receipts were quite literally the worst invention of all time.

Y/N saw that Harry had read it immediately, and she gasped dramatically. Even her teddy bear gasped, it was a drama show for two.

The three dots popped up, and Y/N’s eyes tracked their motion left to right, but then they disappeared.

Once more, they popped up, and then they disappeared again.

Y/N’s eyes, strained against the light of damned technology, stayed on their messages for 23 more minutes, but the dots never popped up again.

 


End file.
